


snake eyes

by ClassicDazel



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pet Store, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Drug Addiction, Tags Are Hard, i guess??, i mean english is not even my first language, idk this is legit the first thing i ever publish, so brace yourselves for the many mistakes i must have made
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 18:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15394557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassicDazel/pseuds/ClassicDazel
Summary: Tweek thinks the only reason he is here now is because his mother and his therapist have pressured him until he couldn't stand it anymore. That does not seem healthy. He disguises his excuses to not try new therapies with a non-existent willpower he assures it's enough to overcome his addiction. He realized that as son as his therapist told him so, and of course, his first reaction was to flatly deny it, like he does with all the accusal that hit the mark. Maybe he just doesn't like being exposed.





	snake eyes

**Author's Note:**

> first of all I have been writing for a while but this is the first I publish because... anxiety, I guess?  
> besides English is not even my first language, so prepare and sorry for the cringe, amigos!

Tweek thinks the only reason he is here now is because his mother and his therapist have pressured him until he couldn't stand it anymore. That does not seem healthy. He disguises his excuses to not try new therapies with a non-existent willpower he assures it's enough to overcome his addiction. He realized that as son as his therapist told him so, and of course, his first reaction was to flatly deny it, like he does with all the accusal that hit the mark. Maybe he just doesn't like being exposed.

_It's like you don't want to go on._

He doesn't like feeling like he doesn't have any control over his own emotions.

_It's like you just want to keep suffering._

He doesn't like being asked "and how does that make you feel?" because he doesn't like the answers.

_It's like you don't want to look what's beyond._

And most of all, he doesn't like it when his father blames him of not wanting to get clean. Tweek wants to get clean. It's the only thing he thinks about since God knows when. His therapist says he is doing pretty well; the first two weeks he couldn't stop sweating and twitching, and the time went too slow and everybody was annoying, but son enough he learnt how to replace his addiction with another addiction. Coffee is not a healthy alternative but at least he doesn't snap at people anymore. He has taken up drawing, and playing piano, and some shows and books that keep him distracted.

It's hard.

Honestly, when they proposed that he took care of a pet, he thought it was a good idea. For the first three seconds. Then he started thinking. He can barely take care of himself, how will he be able of taking care of an animal? What if he doesn't feed it enough? What if he feeds it too much? What if he takes it out a walk and it gets run over? What if the pet hates him and kills itself?

He is scared of hurting an innocent animal, and of how would he react, too.

Still, he can't possibly turn around now. His mother wants him to attempt this so desperately, Tweek only agreed when she begged in tears. Sometimes he forgets the addiction doesn't only destroys him, but also his family and the few Friends he might still have. He should not forget that because it's a very important thing that encourages him to keep going.

Tweek usually doesn't pay attention to the stores he sees on the street —most of the time he just keeps his head down—, but he remembers a few that really catch his attention. The pet store has neon planets on its facade, and he remembers it because it is an odd decoration for a pet shop. If he had seen it when he was a child, he most likely would have believed that it was an alien pet shop. As a little kid he always believed what he imagined.

Now he believes everything he hallucinates. It's not a good change.

The door of the store opens and the smell of fodder greets him. Tweek doesn't find it pleasant but still he doesn't make a face. This smell reminds him of nothing. Anyone would immediately think about their childhood pet or something, but Tweek never had one.

The noise of the barks and the singing of birds is giving him a headache, and he feels all the animals are staring and talking about him —about his too pale skin, his too prominent ears, his too messy blonde hair, his too broken green eyes— in their secret language.

Drugs made him see and hear things that weren't real, so he tries not to focus on that kind of thoughts.

There is none in this store besides him. Not even an employee. Maybe they are in the warehouse — they should be back son. For now, he should start thinking about what is that he wants.

There is a big, shiny fish tank set into a wall. Tweek relies his hands on his knees to lean into the fish and see them better. There are of all kinds of colors, some of them plain and others with quite cool designs. Some fish have long tail and fins which flutter with the water. It's relaxing, to look at them. If it didn't make him cringe so much, he would stick his hand in the water and touch them.

Looking after a fish should be easy. You just have to feed them now and then.

He heard in a documentary fish only have a memory span of a few seconds (he would be lying if he said he doesn't envy them), so a fish could never grow attached to him. After all, that's what he is looking for: something that depends on him— No, "depend" sounds like too much pressure. Something that... trusts him to take care of it.

Tweek doesn't like fish anyway. The same documentary said we know more about space than about the bottom of the sea. There must be some fucked up shit down there.

Then he walks to stare at the cages of the birds. Birds are pretty, but it doesn't seem like a good idea either. He won't want to have the poor thing caged all day long, or put his finger between the bars to caress him and get bitten, or let him out for a while and then he flies out of the window and then Tweek freaks out and—

Jesus, is he going to discard all the animals in this planet with this stupid logic?

He heavily sighs and runs a hand over his face, noticing how easy is to keep his eyes shut and how hard is to keep them open. Again, coffee was not a good idea.  
He feels some weight on his foot. He lowers the gaze and sees something furry running around him. Tweek yelps and strides backwards — and fearing he might step on the animal he strides twice more times. He feels his back against a shelf and a couple of items he can't make out crumble and fall. His head receives some kind of electric shock with each new sensation he perceives and all of it goes right to his heart which won't stop thumping and now he only wants to run away from this place and—

"Hello?"

Tweek is positively is going to have a heart attack, that's why he freezes on the spot.

He fixes his eyes on the man who has just appeared behind the counter out of nowhere. He basically looks like an anti-reflection of himself. Tall, dark hair, dull brown eyes, slightly tanned skin. The first thing Tweek thinks is that he is not bad looking, the second is that he _wants to run away from this place_ , and the third thing is that he is a human being and he should talk already.

He gestures to the floor; since his hand is shaking he covers it with his pocket. "There's a... hamster off the leash."

The man looks at him and blinks. That's when Tweek realizes he has babblered, rather than talked, and in such a low voice he could barely hear himself. He never was good talking to people. People usually take for granted that's something everybody knows how to do, but Tweek rarely knows what to say while speaking to a stranger.  
The first couple of therapies were an utter disaster.

"There" he mumbles. A hesitant hand comes out again and points to the floor.

The rodent has barely moved; he hasn't even flinched during this whole spectacle Tweek has done, and this says a lot about him, because he fears more the little animal than the little animal fears him. The man understands and leans over the counter to catch a sight of the floor, doing a nearly-grin of amusement as he goes and takes the animal in both of his hands.

"It's not a hamster" he says while caressing him, "it's guinea pig."

That new information calms Tweek down because for a minute there he believed mutant hamsters were real.

"Oh."

That's the only thing he can say. _Oh._  
The employee keeps petting the guinea pig as he walks over to a empty cage among many others full of roents and locks this one inside. The animal seems to feel at home, because right away he goes to drink water and then he climbs to a tiny wheel — he just stays there doing nothing, though.

"Stripe is quite smart" the man says, not looking away from the cage. "It's the fourth time this week he breaks out."

"Why don't you change the cage?" Tweek wonders. He is surprised by his own curiosity, and even more by the fact he has actually asked.

The worker —he has a name-tag on his vest: Craig— seems to feel the same way, and he sighs as if he has been asked that same question fourty times already. Tweek bites his tongue.

"Dunno, he is already used to this one." He shrugs. "I don't mind having to run after him from time to time. Anyways, he never breaks out _out_. It's like he escapes only to prove himself he can do it, but actually he doesn't want to leave the cage. He always expects me to find him."

Tweek feels his throat drying out.

Nobody wants to leave the cage.

"Well, sorry, were you looking for something?" Craig kindly asks. Probably he is just being nice because Tweek is his customer.

"Yeah, uh..." Tweek clears his throat. "My—" How can he put this without looking like social scum? "I was recommended a therapeutic pet." He says that quickly, like removing a band-aid, or buying condoms while avoiding the lady clerk's eyes.

Craig uncrosses his arms and crosses them again casually. He looks honestly startled. And Tweek is not surprised by that. Who enters a store and says "hello, I want a pet so I can stop taking drugs"? Probably people who are on drugs. And him, of course.

"Sure, well..." Craig scratches the back of his head. He looks at Stripe again, and taps his cage as if he is tapping the guinea pig. "Animals can actually have beneficial effects on the mental and even physical health of human beings. They are a support in cases of autism, depression, traumas, diseases..." As Craig names the list, Tweek can help but realize he is wondering what kind of therapy he is going through.

This happens a lot. Tweek is not much of an outgoing person, but those people he does socialize with walk on tiptoes, as if talking to him was like walking through a minefield; a misstep and _boom_. That's stupid, really. Tweek is not going to relapse into addiction only because someone is talking about the addiction. Still, he understands why they feel uncomfortable talking about it.

"And were you thinking about a dog breed in particular?"

Suddenly, Tweek remembers.

He remembers why he hasn't gone to an animal shelter in the first place, and why he never had a pet as a child.

Tweek hates dogs.

Well, he doesn't _hate_ them, but they are just too much. Dogs are smart. They can detect the mood of their owner, they can act accordingly, once he read that the substance dogs segregate when they see their owners is the same human segregate when they fall in love. How can he possibly bear that? He doesn't deserve a dog's unconditional love if there is a possibility he may not love them even half of that. It's frustrating but Tweek feels guilty whenever someone cares about him and he is not able of reciprocating that feeling — it's not fair. And it's stupid. And it's something he should probably talk about someday in therapy. Perhaps.

He doesn't want a cat, either. When he was younger there was a stray cat on his street. Nobody ever took him in, but the cat didn't want anybody to keep him; he was kind of lonely. From time to time, Tweek searched him to give him some food. At first the cat didn't approach, and he had to leave the food on the ground and walk away so he could take it. It became a daily rutine. Little by little, the distance Tweek had to keep so the cat would eat narrowed, and one day it looked like he was about to eat from his hand, Tweek held it out to caress him. The cat ran away aghast. He never got close again. He didn't even name that cat.

Tweek has to make a quick decision, which are the decisions he is worst at, the more he regrets afterwards.

And as always, words are out of his mouth before he can think about them twice.

"Truth is I kinda like snakes."

**Author's Note:**

> sad truth is I published this now because I thought this way I would force myself to write more, and now I highly doubt it will work, but I will try, I will freaking try.


End file.
